Of all the mindless fads–pet rocks, chia pets, low-profile tires–the one that most beggars the imagination is the sudden fascination with kale.
Anyone want to start a pool on when Republicans will attempt to impeach President Obama for the high crime and misdemeanor of being Not White*?
Roy Edroso anticipates the random words.
*Regardless of whatever random words they use, that is at what they take offense.
Really, what’s the point*? The races are finished, done, over with. All we are waiting for is the accounting.
I’ll read about the returns in tomorrow’s local rag. The results likely won’t change much from now to then.
*Maybe beer is the point. I don’t drink beer.
Any Scotch is better than every anything else.
If the ads for adult diapers flooding my telly vision are any indication, America is is drowning in an epidemic of incontinence.
It must be a real pis–oh, never mind.
All seriousness aside, assuming that Republican diaper fetishists have not taken over my telly vision, those ads are a clear attempt to create a market where none exists.
The new make-up that the cosmetic companies are pushing is even worse and an even more transparent attempt to create a market where none exists. Give me a diaper over blood-red vampire lipstick any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
The “tablet-fication” of websites is a plague and a curse.
Dumbed down becomes SOP, the lowest common denominator rules, and Buzzfeeders rule the world.
Why do some campaign types think that I would be interested in emails “From: [somebody]’s iPhone”?
It’s not cute. It’s not clever. It’s not even mildly amusing.
It’s stupid and silly.
How many folks fall for the shysters who try to sell them subscription renewals for publications to which they do not subscribe?
I got one today to renew my subscription to a newspaper that is not my local rag. (It’s the local rag for folks who live on the other side of the James.) It’s good rag, but it’s not my rag, and I’m not ponying up $360+ for it.
According to El Reg, Facebook wants to be your doctor.
The company – in recent months – has apparently been considering the development of “preventative care” apps. Additionally, it has also been locked in tentative talks with medical bods and entrepreneurs, the news wire reported.
Facebook wants to swerve criticism about privacy, apparently, by releasing its first health app under a different name, which New York’s drag community might shrill at given the recent backlash the social network suffered over anonymity.
In this case, “M. D.” means “More Data.” Facebook is looking for new ways to spy on you so as to better serve you–better serve you ads, that is.
Why people who willingly run naked through Facebook and Google and their like scream their heads off about the NSA without seeing the contradictions is beyond me.
In There’s a House in the Land (Where a Band Can Take a Stand), Shaun Mullen revisits the 1970s, that armpit of a decade that gave us leisure suits, adjustable rate mortgages, and, ultimately, Ronald Reagan. He tells of his time living at a group home (no, not that kind of group home–a home in which a group of persons drawn together by coincidence and the need for a place to live resided) on a farm in southeastern Pennsylvania The names and places have been changed to protect the innocent, but the events come alive in this memoir.
The book opens with Shaun’s arrival at the farm and closes with his departure. Other than that, it is in no way chronological, but, rather, thematic, focusing on the persons who lived at and visited the farm and the events they shaped and which shaped them. Shaun brings them to life, drawing you into their lives in this episodic narrative.
Were you to try to outline the book in a “topic outline” (remember topic outlines?), it would appear to ramble. It winds from gardens to goats, from music to musings, from parties to pub crawls. The lack of chronology leads to a sense of timelessness, as if the farm were suspended, like Brigadoon, in its own time and place.
The memories, though, are not all happy and the people are not all nice. There is death and injury and sadness, as comes to all lives, all told matter-of-factly and humanely.
Despite its generally light-hearted tone, the book is tinged with darkness. It is peopled with Viet Nam veterans recovering from that pointless, stupid war; wounded souls fleeing broken homes or relationships, transients passing through looking for their own healing spot. Some of them find it; some don’t. All become real.
Thanks to YouTube’s new practice of force-feeding advertisements, I have realized that I will never ever do business of any sort with “Mass Mutual,” nor wear “Android Wear.”
The word “homeland” has a poisoned history. I’ve never liked it, as I have documented elsewhere in these electrons.
Thom discusses its creepy history.
According to the pastor of the Union Street Brick Church, He didn’t. We did. A nugget (emphasis added; also feel free to substitute “fate” or ‘karma” or some other term if the word “God” gives you discomfort):
One minute we’re accusing the government of being stupid and incompetent, the next we’re generating stories of super-controlling plans to bring about slavery and the end of democracy. Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.
If God doesn’t hold us responsible for things we do when we’re crazy, then what about when a whole society, or societies, goes crazy together? To ask the question Firesign Theatre asked 43 years ago, “Are we all bozos on this bus?”
I say we are. I think we have exceeded our capacity to act rationally in our own best interests (the premise of capitalism), or to act with love in the interests of others (the premise of Christianity). We are failing to take responsibility for our actions as humans, and we are of a mind to blame God for all of it. To destroy ourselves and the world God gave us, and to blame God (for what? for giving us life and what was a paradise in the first place?) is the height of smug paranoia, and it can only lead to further destruction.
Sometimes, random bad stuff just happens. Too often, persons do bad stuff because they think that harming others will benefit them.
There is such a thing as evil, and it is man-made.
The persons who do bad stuff concoct elaborate theories to convince others and themselves that they are doing good stuff. Such theories are commonly referred to as “the Laffer Curve,” “Libertarianism,” “Reaganomics,” and “Neoconservatism,” to mention but a few examples.
Having an Amazon account has from time to time been useful, but I must find a way to send all email from “LocalDeals@amazon.com” to /dev/null. Amazon has found a way to make the Nigerian email scam look like a model of internet integrity in comparison.
In other news, if I receive another email from a Democratic cause marked “Urgent” or with a subject line starting with “Re” when there is no “Re” or wanting a $3.00 contribution, I shall scream. I won’t stop supporting Democrats, because I live in the real world, but I shall most certainly scream.
American Exceptionalism, n.: The propensity of the United States of America and its citizens to except themselves from accountability for their actions. See Viet Nam, Nicaragua, Granada, slavery, Jim Crow, asbestos, tar sands, fly ash, Halliburton, Iraq, Guantanamo Bay, NSA, CIA, Ferguson, Birmingham, British Petroleum, Monsanto, DDT, honey bees . . . . .
Am I the only person who finds Christian Mingle’s (no link–look it up yourself) ad campaign
We watched Sharknado yesterday. It was riveting in a way, keeping one wondering what the next bit of fantastickal stupid might be. I cannot say that “it was so bad it was good,” but it was so bad it was amusing.
Driftglass is fond of saying (I’m paraphrasing here) that what distinguishes science fiction from other genres is the science.
By that standard, Sharknado is not science fiction; it’s fictional science.
At DL, I noticed that the bar telly vision was tuned to ESPN #something-or-other, where a big deal was being made of the NBA draft (mercifully, the sound was turned off), which, as my mother would have said, is the biggest nothing, indeed a biggest nothing of the highest order. It means nothing until the first tip-off of the next NBA season, which I intend to ignore as I have ignored all the preceding NBA seasons since Elvin Hayes and Wes Unseld retired.
We have a media that makes somethings out of nothings, while real somethings (for example) go ignored.
We are awash in stupid.
A bicycle ride on trash day in the heat of the summer can be an olfactory adventure.